


Vhenan: A Dragon Age Collection

by victoriae350



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age - Freeform, Drama, F/M, Multiple Pairings, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2018-11-16 19:08:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11259132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victoriae350/pseuds/victoriae350
Summary: A collection of one-shots. These centre around: Cullen x Trevalyan, Solas x Lavellan, Alistair x human noble, Sebastian x OC and Fenris x Hawke. Rated T for suggestive themes.





	1. My Well of Sorrows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A one-shot detailing Arwen Lavellan's lifeless abyss as she longs for Solas. Solas x OC.

**Title:** My Well of Sorrows  
**Starring:** Solas x Lavellan  
**Setting:** A few weeks after the events of Trespasser 

* * *

 

Arwen Lavellan awoke to the sound of silence. Sweat soaked into her clothes, and pinned her hair against her forehead. The dampness of the underground cave wasn't enough to relieve her of her beating heart as it hammered in her chest. For a moment she winced against weariness as it fought to overcome her, and drag her back into another restless sleep; where she'd spend hours tossing and turning, only to lose to droopy eyes and shoot up into a sitting position once the nightmares creeped in. She was still drenched in darkness, and lost in the abyss that had, for weeks, fed on her life.  
  
No. She couldn't escape. She'd forced herself away from the ruins of what she'd believed the source of these nightmares. The memories linked with the ruins where she defeated Corypheus, and rounded the corner to relay the good news to her crew. At that moment, she allowed herself to continuously fall down a well with sorrow water. She was drowning, suffocating, and living in a agony she never wanted. A life she never asked for. If she could go back, and dodge the fate of the pathetic mark; run one of the four corners of hell, she would. Hell would be better than this.  
  
Someone else could save the world. Someone else could feel the agony. Someone else could lay awake at night, contemplating choices, and tossing to a invisible beat. Someone else could make this decision. Not her. Never her. And yet, it was her. IS her. Arwen wished she hadn't bothered. Had run away from the camp. Hadn't bothered with acquaintances. Or making friends.  
  
But she had made friends. She had gone out of her way to learn what she could about those she'd work with. The crew that assembled themselves upon an hour of a need. When the worlds combined, and theirs would be swallowed and spat out until there was nothing left.  
  
Thoughts danced like flying fish. The dream was still vivid. It was like something out of a story book. Like legends and tragedies told around camp fires, or ghost stories of long lost loves. Or battles. Long, hard, tragic battles.  
  
She had stood in a forest. A forest full of colour. The glistening sun beamed down on her. Hard, yellow rays filtered in through the trees. A great blue river swooshed and splashed. It, as if moving the beat of its own drum, slowly flowed down the banks, Arwen's hand had casually lifted and touched the roughness of the bark on the nearest tree. Against her skin, it felt warm and the feeling melted into her body. Her heart skipped a beat, and thoughts of home sprang like a spring. She pictured the caravans, and the children as they ran and played alongside elders who watched with a glow.  
  
But then, the sky grew dark and cold. Grey clouds swarmed, and a burst of flight exploded from the sky. Arwen covered her eyes with her hands, glancing away from the source and bracing herself for a sudden world of pain and fire. But moments passed, and nothing. She fought against the urge of panic deep within herself, and glanced back towards the sky. A big, black and and green hole swirled and spun. It was as if it had always been there. Like that was its home. And for a moment, Arwen panicked. The hole! The breach! It was back! She tightened her fist, waves of frustrating rushing over her like a speedy wind. She didn't want to close it again! She couldn't close it again. She didn't want to close it again!  
  
Her eyes trailed to her left arm. The lonely limb. There was no arm there. No mark. Nothing, but a reminder of the terror. The fear that washed over her as the mark spread and the green light exploded from her arm. Thoughts of death and destruction, pain and confusion. All the memories swept into one moment, and the tears that threatened to fall down her face at that time. And right now.  
  
Then, there was a crackle, and her eyes snapped up towards the hole moments before it vanished. A dream. A memory. Nothing more, and nothing less. Arwen sighed in relief, but as she allowed these moments of peace to flood her, she caught some movement out of the corner of her eyes. Standing several feet away deeper in the forest was a black wolf.  
  
Her heart accelerated. Tears built up in her eyes.  
  
This wolf was four times taller than the average. Its ears were pointier than any she'd seen, and its eyes glowed a deep crimson red. And they stared at her. Arwen could feel them penetrating her soul. Threatening to piece it. She couldn't have that. She couldn't fall for this again.  
  
But Arwen couldn't look away. The dread wolf had found her. Again. No. She brushed the sweat from her forehead, and shook her head vigorously. She couldn't take it. Again, memories flooded back, and they spilled down her cheeks.  
  
She brushed her arm with her sleeve, turning her back to the creature, "Why do you torture me?" Arwen whispered, caressing the stump on her shoulder. When no response came, she whirled around, struggling to stop the tears from falling. Did he not get it? Did he not understand? It was like he wanted to torture her.  
  
And Arwen couldn't take it, "You invade my dreams. You find me in the fade." She couldn't take it anymore. She wouldn't take it. But the wolf didn't answer, "I don't know why you come, Solas."  
  
Suddenly, the wolf's eyes lowered to the ground. She could see pain, and frustration. And just as sudden as the wolf had appeared, he vanished. Tears trickled down her cheek, and moments later, her eyes had snapped open. The forest gone, and the darkness returned.  
  
That dream was re-occurring. At least, Arwen was sure of it. She'd recalled having it several days ago, and awaking to a fury. But soon, that fury was replaced with the sound of her heart shattering into thousands of pieces.  
  
But now, Arwen felt nothing. An emptiness she couldn't explain settled within her. Arwen Lavellan sat up, brushing her bangs from her forehead and reflecting. It had been better if she'd never gone to Haven.  
  
Her eyes snapped to a form that slept a few feet away from her. In the darkness, she could make out a slim figure of Cassandra hidden underneath armour. The moonlight shone on her dark hair.  
  
Arwen was glad for the company. The little bantering they'd done on the road, and the bantering they'd have as they ventured forth to God knows where.  
  
The elf scrambled on to her feet, and wandered from the safety of the cave into the barren moonlight. She took in the view. Their cave was at the base of a mountain near a looming forest of tall trees towering over them.  
  
But the thought of Solas, and of the emptiness that engulfed her soul tempted her to leave the cave herself. Alone. To wander the world and search for a answer. For a way to stop the death of their world, and to save the one she loved from destroying himself.  
  
Arwen rubbed her eyes, dwelling on the sadness of her dreams and the nightmares. She was scared this obsession would ruin her. Drive her into a state of madness, and that she'd betray herself. But Arwen felt, more than anything, obligation. Whether or not his motivations were true, he'd helped her save her world.  
  
And now she'd help him save his. 


	2. Blood in Black Hearts - Cullen x Trevelyan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imogen Trevelyan's rogue, sassy attitude has kept most of the inquisition at bay. She's the Inquisitor's right hand, but this confession is preying on her nerves. Rated T for suggestions. Some in game dialogue. One-shot. Cullen x Non-Inquisitor Trevelyan.

**Title:** Blood in Black Hearts  
**Characters:** Cullen x Trevelyan  
**Setting:**  During the events of DA: I

* * *

 

This time was different.  
  
Not the type that centred on lust or crazy fan girl theories. If only. The pacing. The mental notes. The rapid change of movements and swift turns. Flipping through all those “what if” scenarios without uttering a word.  
  
There wasn’t a time that crossed Imogen’s mind that compared to this. Giving into her suitors desires had never been an issue. Not in the past. It satisfied someone. Her mother. Father. Distant, insanely rich noble cousins who read too many romance novels. It made someone happy. Meaningless, to say in the least. And that’s what made it easy.  
  
Nerves were never necessary. Confessing half witted, empty words to appease those who fought to use her for their own methods. Locking away her heart while they did what they needed, and then watching their faces fall when she shattered their hearts. It was always worth it. To watch rage and anger, sadness and depression fly through at such a rate. Hilarious to say the least. They got their fun. Her family benefitted. She was entertained. Everyone was happy.  
  
But that morning, she’d gotten out of bed and recited a thousand times what she’d say. And do. How she’d approach this. How’d she keep her heart at bay. The order of sentences. When she’d bring it up. What to do if rejection knocked on her front door. It was planned. It had been planned.  
  
Yet why was she so nervous? Pacing outside his newly renovated office on the battlements? Glancing often down at those that lingered in the court yard? Analyzing their faces. Preparing lectures and possible punishment tactics. Stuff she would do later. Why?  
  
Arwen would know. Not that Imogen would ask. Of course, the elf always knew. She was weird that way. Elves had this thing about them…strutting around the halls with a look on their faces. Or how they walked. So smug. A fountain of cocky pride that glistened in the moonlight and strung itself up during the day. But their ears. Those irritated Imogen most. She’d forced herself to get accustomed with the elves that had been drawn to Skyhold since they’d made the long trek here.  
  
Or those before. Like Solas. Though his long explanations of the fade and breach were like lullabies to small children. She had no idea how Arwen could sit through something and leave fascinated. Or how this fascination grew into anything more. It was easy to tell, of course. The girl was like a walking emotion filled basin. Not that Imogen would ever tell her that.  
  
And here she was. Imogen mentally slapped herself for getting distracted. Somewhat. Her palms had grown sweaty. Her heart was beating out of her chest. Had these feelings really exploded this much? Trouble is she had no idea when this started. When she started feeling like this.  
  
Imogen’s eyes shot back so she was staring at the court yard where tents were still drawn and the wounded lay. The last. Those that may yet survive. For those seriously injured had died in the last weeks since they had come to Skyhold. The exploding emotions were cut for a moment with a stab of guilt. She should’ve seen it coming. Corypheus’s attack after they took his mages. And she didn’t. Did he hate her for it?  
  
She checked the door that led to his tower. It was a small wood door embedded into the tower’s white rock walls. No taller than herself.  
  
This, Imogen tightened her hands into balls, is ridiculous.  
  
If Arwen had the nerve and ability to act on impulse and kiss Solas, why should she stand here cowering in the face of…this!? (Whatever it was)  
  
As if someone was pulling at an invisible rope wrapped around her waste, Imogen’s feet acted on their own accord…and she was at the door. Her hand lightly tapped against the wood, but she pushed it open slowly before a reply.  
  
With the door open, and the dimly lit room calling her name, inviting her inside, there was nothing holding her back. Yet, she felt the pangs of an over flowing emotional mess start to bubble and pop within her. Again. Only this time, there were fireworks and screaming voices in her head.  
  
At the desk feet away from her was a blonde haired figure wrapped in large, fancy armour staring down at something on the desk. His eyes snapped up. They lingered for a moment. She could see something conflicting in his eyes.  
  
“Something on my face?”  
  
“Yes…uh, no,” He stood straight, “Maker’s breath…I thought you…went with the Inquisitor to the Hinterlands yesterday…”  
  
Oh yes. She’d thought earlier that morning it would come up, “I thought it best I remain here. I have some…things i need to take care of,” Like you. But she wouldn’t say that out loud, “Is that a problem?”  
  
“What? No.”  
  
“Good,” Blood pumped vigorously to her head. It felt like it would explode, “I was wondering if we could talk…alone.”  
  
“Alone?” She thought for a moment he’d refuse. Imogen had been prepping herself for this…if you could call pacing and sweating preparation. But, she knew he’d refuse. Why would anyone accept? “I mean, of course.”  
  
Imogen’s hands clapped together quietly behind her back, and she started playing with her fingers. He came to her side, and they walked out another door on the opposite side of the room. Not the same one she’d come in of course. But another, and as they left the dimly lit room and walked into the sunshine, there was a moment or two of silence.  
  
They wandered the battlements for what felt like hours. Imogen’s mind had drawn a blank. A ridiculous blank.  
  
“It’s a nice day…” Cullen scratched the back of his neck.  
  
The statement had taken her aback. Her eyes snapped towards him, “What!?” It sounded too forceful. She knew it. And she hadn’t meant it that way.  
  
“It’s…” He wouldn’t look at her. She’d done it. She’d broken him, “…there was something you wished to discuss.”  
  
Moment of truth. Imogen felt like something was going to rip her chest open and jump out, “Cullen…” Just say it. Get it over with. “…I care for you…and…” She sighed, her eyes jumping out of the battlements and to the grand mountains behind them.  
  
“What’s wrong?” There was a sort of calm, tenderness to his voice.  
  
“You left the templars,” Imogen continued. She started back down the battlements. Cullen followed swiftly. Closely, “but do you trust mages? Could you think of me as anything more?”  
  
“I could. I mean, I do…think of you. And what I might say in this sort of situation,” said Cullen.  
  
Imogen followed Cullen as they ventured farther down the battlements. Her heart — of which she had finally calmed — picked up, and she felt like it would break free of its flesh prison.  
  
“What’s stopping you?” said Imogen. The words were out before she could think, and the two halted in their tracks again. Imogen’s hand brushed the stone walls of the battlements. She dared not think of the consequences if she tumbled from the safety of the walls.  
  
His eyes snapped at her. Imogen’s face grew hot. What met her eyes wasn’t the look of council debate, or reason. Instead, she saw soft eyes, “We’re at war. And you,” As if this were a dance, he swayed as he closed the gap, “I didn’t think it was possible.”  
  
  
“And yet I’m still here,” Imogen gripped the walls with her fingers.  
  
“So you are,” Again, Cullen swayed slightly as the gap shortened. If Imogen had wanted, she could’ve leaned in a few inches and felt his cheek against her own, “it seems too much to ask. But I want to—“  
  
He leaned in. Imogen could feel the heat of his skin, and the slight pressure of his hands as they touched either side her waist. This was it. What she’d come to do. In a sense. Her heart fluttered at the thought of the seconds to come.  
  
Their lips were about to brush, “Commander!”  
  
Imogen’s eyes widened. Her head dropped so she gazed at the floor. Her worst nightmare! The reason she’d bothered pacing outside his office. A interruption. One that would certainly change his mind. She felt the pressure of his hands tighten against her waist, and the sound of footsteps drew closer.  
  
“You wanted a copy of sister Leliana’s report,” said the voice.  
  
The pressure on either side of her waist disappeared. For a moment, Imogen allowed herself to catch a quick glimpse of the intruder’s face. She’d seen him previous, receiving orders from Cullen when they first arrived at Skyhold. The man wore a green outfit and hood. A messenger. Most likely one of Leliana’s. Imogen would have a talk with the “spymaster” later. Her eyes snapped away from his face, and back to the lovely cobblestone floor. My, it was lovely!  
  
“What!?” snapped Cullen.  
  
“Sister Leliana’s report. You wanted it delivered “without delay.””  
  
A thick silence fell upon the trio, but Imogen didn’t lift her head to see what was happening. Heat rose to her cheeks. She wanted her feet to move. She wanted to get out of there. But nothing happened. Her feet had minds of their own, and they stayed planted in the spot.  
  
“Or to your office,” said the messenger, breaking the silence. She heard feet shuffling in the direction they’d come from, “right…”  
  
The heat intensified. Imogen fought with her feet. They had to move! She couldn’t stand there, looking like a idiot. When the sound of a door opening, and then closing echoed, Imogen forced words, “If you need to—“ But she never finished.  
  
Imogen felt Cullen’s lips crush hers. She gasped with surprised as his hands found her shoulders, and they swayed together. In his arms, she felt a warmth and desire that she’d never experienced. It was like a volcano was exploding.  
  
Her arms had jerked back in surprise, but now they fell on to his broad arms. The desperation disappeared as his lips slowed against her, and she felt obliged to quicken the pace. But as soon as they had started, he’d pulled away, “I’m sorry. That was…really nice.”  
  
For a moment, she stared at him, unable to form words or wrap herself around what had happened. She smirked, “That was what I wanted.”  
  
“Oh. Good,” He leaned in, and she felt him press his lips against hers. Imogen gently touched his arms. And in that moment, she knew.  
  
She had done it.


	3. Imogen: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little is known about Imogen Trevelyan. Only that she appeared one day in Redcliffe, asking to join the Inquisition. It is when she asks for a favour from the Inquisitor that more is revealed.

A/N: This has several parts. All will be posted as written.

 **Title:** Imogen  
**Part:** 1  
**Other Parts:** N/A at this time  
**Pairings:** Cullen x Non-Inquisitor Trevelyan (Imogen)  
**Other OC Characters:** Arwen Lavellan  
**Setting:** Right after the move to Skyhold  
**Synopsis:** Little is known about Imogen Trevelyan. Only that she appeared one day in Redcliffe, asking to join the Inquisition. It is when she asks for a favour from the Inquisitor that more is revealed.

Imogen’s legs dangled off the edge of the cliff. A gentle breeze brushed against her skin. The open cells shaded her, but the clearing in the wall (or, in fact, the lack of wall) offered a perfect view of the mountains, as if they were laying their souls out bare. She felt water spraying against her legs, and a little on her face. There was a loud booming sound from the waterfall at her feet that flowed and into what seemed like an empty abyss below. Imogen had never bothered to watch where the water landed. Or maybe she had, and couldn’t remember.

If only she had a view like this in the circle. The Templars would not offer the mages that opportunity. A taste of freedom…something that would lead them beyond the dull walls of the fortress sheltering them from the outside world. It was stupid logic…as if the stone kept mages farther from the fade. Sure, the circle of Ferelden fell for a bit because of a mage’s stupid decisions, but did all believe every Mage was a like?

Maybe the answer was simple. Or maybe it wasn’t. Imogen clenched her fists in her lap, straining to keep memories of her time at the Ostwick circle at bay. But who could? There were beautiful talks with friends, and instances of forbidden romance wandering the corridors. People who dared to share a passion with someone else. How crazy they were! If only she had that courage. But the Templars and the circle had kept such basic experiences and interactions from her.

Something rubbed against the rocks behind her. Imogen’s gaze snapped for a moment to the source. A tall, blonde elf with a blue outfit wandered inside, and at that moment, Imogen went back to the beautiful mountains that greeted here with open arms, “I never got a view like this at the circle. It’s extraordinary.”

“That’s why you sit here?” said Arwen, “for the view? Doesn’t it get cold?”

“Of course it’s cold,” said Imogen, “we’re in the bloody mountains. But this the only place where I can…”

“Can what?”

Was it appropriate to mention? Was it something she was willing to bring up and face scrutiny for? It was no secret, of course. Imogen had heard whispers in the hall, and the rumours that spread amongst the guard.

Imogen rolled her shoulders. It didn’t matter what people thought they knew, even if it wasn’t the truth, “…nothing. It isn’t worth mentioning. But…” Imogen took in the looming mountains for but a moment longer before pushing herself on to her feet, “…I have a favour. You do that sort of thing, right?”

“I do,” said Arwen.

“Good,” said Imogen, “there are some…people I wish to find. In the conclave commotion, we lost touch. I searched afterwards and couldn’t find any trace. Since you have so much at your disposal….”

“All right,” said Arwen, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Really? You’ll help me,” said Imogen, “no questions?”

“Should I be asking them?” said Arwen

Imogen chuckled, “If you did, I wouldn’t tell. But I have some information for a search. I assume you want to do that first.”

“Give the information to my people,” said Arwen, “and they’ll look into it.”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” said Imogen, “I’ll head there now.”

Arwen nodded and stalked away as quickly as she would come. Imogen took another look at the mountains. It felt as if someone was going to take the view away from her. She’d walk away, and come back to find nothing but abyss and stone wall. It was only a few minutes…

And this was far too important. The young mage snatched her staff from its spot against the wall, and tossed her satchel over her shoulder before following the Inquisitor out the door. Arwen was gone before Imogen could say another word, but she did not care. The sooner she passed this along, the sooner she would return.

Imogen trailed up through the hall into the sunshine, and across the courtyard until she flew up the stairs and entered the main hall. Noblemen chatted amongst themselves, as if keeping some sort of loud secret. Not that Imogen cared.

She pushed open the middle door on the left and another, until she walked into a small room with light streaming in from the few windows. A young noblewoman scribbled on parchment behind a desk.

Imogen approached the desk, “Ambassador.”

“Ms. Trevelyan,” said Josephine, dabbing her quill into a pot of ink, “is there something I can do for you?”

“Yes, and no,” said Imogen, “the Inquisitor has granted me a favour.”

“A favour?”

“Yes, a favour,” said Imogen, Her hands dig into the satchel, and snatch a few pieces of parchment, “if you do not believe me, you can ask her.”

“It is not that,” said Josephine, “often matters like this are brought up in War Council meetings. Is there something about this particular favour that cannot wait?”

“The parchment summarizes it in enough detail,” said Imogen. She slid the parchment across the desk. Josephine eyed it as she put down her quill and snatched the parchment. For a few moments, Imogen heard nothing but thick silence. From the courtyard, voices of swords clashing had echoed. Here it was like a piece of paradise.

Josephine set down the parchment, “I assume this is a search operation.”

“That is correct,” said Imogen.

“Normally I would offer my services, but…” said Josephine, offering Imogen the parchment, “I doubt nobles and ties would benefit this situation…especially one that requires urgency. Perhaps Leliana or Cullen.”

Imogen snatched the parchment out of Josephine’s hands. The thought of the commander sent a tremor down her spine, “I see. I will ask them. Thank you, Josephine.”

Ambassador Montilyet nodded, and then set her gaze back on her work. Imogen gripped the parchment pieces.

After making the trek past the library to the tip top to find Leliana, Imogen clenched her left hand as Leliana scanned the documents, “This is interesting. I am definitely interested, but all of my agents are currently occupied with other missions,” said Leliana, “I know the Commander has a few men to spare. You should speak with him.” And then she turned and walked away.

It was true that interactions with Leliana were normally brief, but something had stirred in her. Some sort of hope that she would take her quest and get results quickly. But it was a dream, and reality just smacked her in the face. The Commander was her only option. Her heart jumped at the thought. She’d have to face the Commander.

For a moment it seemed unimportant. She didn’t have to find her friends right away. But it had been months without a word. Imogen swallowed, and snatched the parchment from the table. She had to do this. Her friend’s lives may depend on this.

The walk to the Commander’s tower on the battlements was short. So short, that Imogen felt like she’d blinked and teleported. The tower loomed over the battlements. She wasn’t surprised he was cooped up in here, or that some soldiers were a few feet away whispering in each others ear. Imogen swore she saw them throw her looks in between words, and it wouldn’t surprise her. She straightened her back, and felt the staff touch her shoulders. Without hesitation, Imogen grabbed the doorknob and pushed.

The door flung open and revealed a dimly lit room with few windows, and a small desk near the back by the wall. Behind was a blonde haired man in some sort of weird, animal crap armour. It looked uncomfortable, and unlike anything she had seen before. Of course, she was use to stupid iron armour with a red sword and, if she hadn’t caught glimpses of him before, that’s what she would’ve expected. She tightened her fingers, and swallowed. He was shuffling something around on his desk.

“Commander Cullen,” said Imogen. Maybe she was a little too forceful, for her voice echoed.

The Commander looked at her, “Something on your mind?”

You have no idea. Imogen wanted to throw the parchment on to the desk and all her magic at his face. She ignored the Commander’s question and approached his desk, “The Inquisitor has granted me a favour. I’m to leave this parchment with you.” She didn’t mention that second still buried in her satchel. The page Leliana and Josephine had the pleasure of seeing.

Cullen took the parchment and glanced over them, “A search…”

“Yes,” said Imogen, “that’s what it says.”

He scanned the document, not uttering a single word. Silence settled between them. Imogen was tempted to walk off, but she remained put with images of her friends flashing in her memory. She crossed her arms over her chest.

“Have I done something to offend you?” said Cullen.

“No,” said Imogen, “why?”

“It’s just that you’re,” said Cullen, pausing for a moment, “nevermind.”

He glanced over the parchment for a moment longer.

Imogen sighed, “Just give me any details about this so I can leave.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” said Cullen.

She was afraid of this. Imogen fought the itch to grab her staff and blast him where he stood, “Because..?”

“The amount of information here is…unworkable,” said Cullen, “I’ll need more to launch a proper investigation.”

“That “information” is none of your business,” said Imogen, “is that piece of parchment not enough?”

“I need names,” said Cullen.

“Aren’t the names there?” said Imogen.

“No,” said Cullen.

“Oh,” said Imogen, “I’m sure you can do without. The Inquisition has found with less. You have a lot of information at your disposal.”

“Listing little detail about a raid and, ‘They’re somewhere in Thedas’ is not information,” said Cullen, “if I am to find your friends, I need something. Anything.”

Imogen groaned, fully aware of the piece of parchment in her satchel. She snatched it and slammed it into his hands, “Is this enough? It’s a detailed description of possible locations, and a few names. Plus additional information.”

Cullen scanned the parchment, “This mentions Templars.”

“It does,” said Imogen.

“Is there a reason why the Templars could be involved?” said Cullen.

Imogen had a sudden urge to smack the man in the face. Wouldn’t something like that be plainly obvious? “Nothing I’ll willingly share with you.”

“I was just trying to learn more,” said Cullen, “if I’m to find your friends, I need as much information as possible. I meant no offense.”

“Sure,” said Imogen, “whatever makes you tick. Just find my friends, Commander. A lot is riding on this.”

And she retreated before he could respond…and before she screamed in his face.


End file.
